


Winner Takes It All

by ThoscheiTrash



Series: Thoschei Fics [4]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Dark Doctor (Doctor Who), Episode AU: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, F/M, Kinda, Manipulation, Murder, Neck Kissing, Possessive Behavior, Spydoc, The Valeyard (mentioned), Thoschei, Unhealthy Relationships, and become dark, and the doctor decided to go with him, basically it's just an alternate ending to, but like darker than normal kinda, dark!master, i guess, if the master had won, suffocating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23217907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoscheiTrash/pseuds/ThoscheiTrash
Summary: The Doctor was being held in the paralysis field on Gallifrey, but she couldn't find the strength to break free. The Master loves that he's beaten her, and decides to take her with him in his TARDIS.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: Thoschei Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621621
Comments: 32
Kudos: 102





	1. The Winner Takes It All

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write Dark!Thirteen... I'm not really sure if that's what I ended writing, as this is more... broken!Thirteen. But the fic itself is kind of dark.  
> Also, I was thinking about maybe writing more to this? What do you guys think?

The Doctor could see Ruth in her head, telling her, _begging_ her to get back up. To fight. But she couldn’t. She was tired, so, so tired, and would it really be so bad if just this once, she didn’t fight?

Right now, her head was pounding, and the Master had a race of his own creation that he planned to use to destroy the universe, and that was just too _much_ for her to deal with. Let someone else do it. Let someone else be the hero for once.

The Master watched her as she stood, her body limp and only being held in place by the containment field, and he wondered what she’d do. He was almost surprised when the answer was _nothing._

“I win.” He said, the hint of a smile on his face. But _only_ a hint, because when it came to his dealings with the Doctor, he’d learned not to celebrate too early. “Say it.” She stayed silent. He walked closer to her, until his face was so close to hers that they would’ve been able to feel each other’s breathing if it weren’t for the cage between them. “Tell me I win.” 

The paralysis field seemed to weaken, for a moment, enough to let her move her lips - probably his doing, though she’d had her eyes so fixed on the floor that she hadn’t noticed - and she let her gaze flick up to meet his. 

“You win.”

He laughed at that. No, he _cackled._ He jumped up and down, he clapped his hands, and then he stood scarily still, his eyes boring into hers as he whispered. “I know.” 

At that moment, the cage around her vanished, and her body limply fell to the ground. He didn’t try to catch her, even though he was close enough that he could’ve. After everything she’d done to him, why should he be gentle with her now?

Her body ached. Pain shot through her legs and arms as she hit the cold floor, and her head was pounding from the new memories. 

The Master came and sat next to her, wrapped an arm around her, held her close as her body shook. It reminded them both of a time, many years ago, when they’d been sitting on a ship called The Valiant, and the Master had been the one realising he had lost. That realisation had broken him, back then, just as it was breaking _her_ now.

“You’re mine, now.” He whispered, and she didn’t protest. She didn’t say anything at all, just let him hold her, and let herself accept her fate. She was _his_ , now. 

They stayed like that for a moment, but as much as he was enjoying the closeness, he wanted to move. He wanted to _do_ something, anything. So the Master stood up, and held his hand out to her. “Take my hand.” He ordered, and this time she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. 

The Master and the Doctor, walking hand in hand towards his TARDIS - that wasn’t something that anyone would expect to happen, least of all them. But here they were. 

His race of CyberMasters watched, unmoving, and with a flick of his wrist and a shout of the word “Go!”, they were off to destroy the universe. And for the first time, the Doctor wasn’t trying to stop them. 

“You’re going to stay with me, on my TARDIS.” He said, and she nodded. “You can be like me. I can teach you.” It was what was always coming for them, wasn’t it? The Doctor had tried to teach the Master to be good, had kept her locked in his TARDIS (and a vault) while doing so. And now, the tables had turned. She was his captive, and he wanted to show her how to be bad.

So that’s what they did. She stayed, he did bad things, she refused to do them with him. The Doctor _always_ refused. But she never stopped him. Not once, after that day. He burned cities, he killed people, and she tried to pretend that she hated it as much as she used to. But, if she was being honest with herself, she really didn’t. It was just a part of their routine, now. 

One day, he was leaving the TARDIS as he always did, asking her to come with him as he always did, and she surprised them both by saying yes. It took a moment for his brain to register her answer, but when he realised what she’d said, he froze. She did, too. 

Then the Doctor stood up, walked over to the doors, and shrugged. “I just want some fresh air.” 

It was a pathetic excuse, and they both knew it, but he didn’t call her out. The Master wanted her to come with him, to watch the destruction, even if she had to lie to herself and say that she didn’t want it too. 

He ran through the doors, his TCE in hand, and started shooting people with his usual bravado. The Doctor couldn’t bring herself to look - she could hear their screams, feel their fear, and that was enough. People cried for help, and she let them. 

The next time the Master went out, she stayed in the TARDIS. She was still trying to get to grips with the fact that she hadn’t completely hated the experience. But the time after that, she went with him again, and this time, she didn’t force herself to look away. 

The Master enjoyed this more than anything - _this_ time, specifically, because he knew he was finally, properly, in control. The people he was hurting were bending to his will, kneeling in front of him, and the Doctor was watching, looking a little upset but doing nothing to stop him. Oh, he loved it. 

He hoped that one day, she would join him. One day, she might be by his side, hurting them too. But for now, he was content to simply let her watch. It was a lot more than she would’ve been willing to do a few months ago. 

This became their new routine, after a while. The TARDIS would land somewhere, and she’d be by the door, waiting for him. It would always bring a smile to his face, and she would always pretend that she didn’t enjoy seeing it. People would always scream for help, and she would always ignore them. Until, one day, someone looked her in the eye. Someone tried to convince her to act in the way that she _used_ to think was right.

A man in the crowd noticed that the Doctor was simply watching, and that she didn’t seem to be enjoying the killing in the same way that the Master was. 

“Please.” He’d whispered, from his position on the floor, and the Doctor tried not to look at him. She didn’t want to feel the guilt of knowing that she could’ve helped someone - but he was deliberately making himself hard to ignore. He was glancing back at the Master as he gleefully threatened to shoot anyone who moved, and used his distraction as an opportunity to scoot closer to her. “You seem like a good person. Please, help us.” 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered a moment later, and shook her head. But other people in the crowd started to notice them talking, and as they turned to look, the Master followed their gaze.

“Is he bothering you, love?” 

As soon as the nickname left his lips, the man regretted asking her for help. Clearly, he’d made a mistake - the two of them were a couple, he assumed. 

“He was asking for help.” The Doctor told him, and her voice was completely monotone. She didn’t sound like she had any sympathy for him, but she didn’t sound angry that he’d asked, either. The Master, on the other hand, _was_ angry. 

“I told everyone not to move.” He said, pointing the weapon at the man as he apologised profusely. “I said I’d shoot anyone who moved, and you didn’t _listen_!” As he spoke, his words were getting louder, and more rage was making its way into his voice. Then, he turned to the Doctor. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good, I didn’t imagine it, then.” The Master grinned. “But _you’re_ the one he moved to talk to. So I think it’s only fair that you’re the one who shoots him.” 

Oh, she wasn’t sure about this. She may not have as strict of a moral compass as she used to, but that didn’t mean she wanted to kill someone. In her lifetime, the Doctor had killed many people, but she’d never had to look them in the eye, never had to see the fear on their faces as they fought to stay alive. So she kept her eyes fixed on the Master, instead. He held out his weapon, and she considered saying no. She didn’t. 

The Doctor reached to take the TCE, but he didn’t let go, simply letting his finger rest on hers as it hovered over the trigger. The Master stood behind her, and she could feel his breath on her ear as he whispered. “Do it.”

She tried to ignore the man’s pleading expression, so she focussed on the feeling of the Master’s hand on hers, of his face by her neck. And he could tell what she was doing, so he moved even closer, pressing his lips to her skin, mouthing at her neck. 

It was supposed to relax her, probably, but she barely even noticed, too caught up in deciding what to do. But as much as the Master was enjoying how she was letting him do what he wanted to her, he didn’t like the hesitation. So his finger pressed down on hers, which in turn pressed on the trigger. The TCE fired, and the man became a shrunken corpse on the floor.

The room was completely silent, for a moment, and the expressions on their faces were the exact opposites. The Doctor was in shock. She felt completely numb, and anyone who looked at her face would see pure horror. But the Master - oh, he was grinning. He’d just made her _kill_ someone, with _his_ weapon, and now… now they were truly the same. _Finally._

“Well done.” He whispered, and as she held the weapon, his hands ran up and down her arms. He was so _proud,_ so happy, but suddenly he wasn’t in the mood for killing anymore. It was obvious that she wanted to leave, and he just wanted to be with her at that moment, so the two of them returned to his TARDIS, and the people who had been left alive carried on with their days, telling everyone they saw about the two murderers who had disappeared just as quickly as they’d arrived.


	2. The Loser's Standing Small

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master wants to make the Doctor more and more like him, and they talk about what he made her do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets... pretty dark. A bit creepy. A tiny bit hot, at one point, but not really.

The next few times that the Master went out, the Doctor refused to go with him, like she used to. He didn’t fight her - not _too_ much, anyway - as he wanted to let her move at her own pace. He was worried that he’d pushed her too much the last time, though. Maybe it had been too soon to make her kill someone. Maybe he shouldn’t have forced her finger to pull the trigger. 

Surprisingly, though, the Doctor wasn’t mad at him. The two of them barely talked for a few weeks, but they could both tell that it wasn’t because she was angry. No, she was just still in shock. She was living in denial, trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. But she didn’t blame him at all - she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that he’d been the one to kill the man, and that her finger had simply pressed the button because he’d forced it to, but she couldn’t help feeling like it was all her fault. 

She’d been pondering this one day, while sitting in the TARDIS library, a book in her hand to make it look like she was reading (though in truth she’d stopped paying attention to the words about an hour ago).

The Master had been sitting on a chair on the other side of the room, his own book resting on his lap. But he wasn’t reading either. His eyes were fixed on her, wondering what she was thinking about, and trying to come up with something to say. 

“How did it feel?” He asked, eventually, and she glanced over at him.

“What?”

He rolled his eyes. “Killing that man. How did it feel?”

“Horrible.” The Doctor’s response was fast - _too_ fast - it was just a reflex, really. She hadn’t even thought about his question; she’d just given him the knee-jerk response that felt like the thing she was _supposed_ to say. The Master noticed, and spoke up again.

“No, it didn’t.” He carefully laid his book down on a table, and came to sit next to her on the leather sofa. It was a seat that was definitely big enough for the two of them, but he chose to sit as close as possible so their bodies could touch. “Try again.” 

The Doctor sighed and fell silent. After a few minutes, he stopped expecting to get an answer, so it surprised him when she started talking again. “I didn’t feel _anything_ .” She admitted in a whisper, and that was a realisation that horrified her. How could she not feel _anything_ after taking someone’s life? After doing the thing that she’d spent all of her life despising?

The Master seemed pleased by her answer. He shifted in his seat slightly, so his elbow was digging into the headrest behind them while his fingers started to fiddle with her hair. She barely even noticed.

“Do you want to do it again?” He asked her, an eyebrow raised - not that she could see it, since she was keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the book, refusing to meet his gaze even as he stared at her. 

There was a pause. “Of course not.” But they could both tell that her words didn’t sound as certain as she’d wanted them to. 

The Master simply hummed in response, his fingers brushing her hair to one side so he could press kisses to her neck. They may have been soft, and he may have been being gentle, but that didn’t in any way make them _sweet_. It was a power move. He was showing her that he could do what he wanted, and that she would let him. And she did. Not without a barely concealed flinch at the contact, though.

“Are you sure?” He murmured against her skin, and this time she stayed silent, because she couldn’t in all honesty say yes. She was curious now, morbidly so. The Doctor wanted to know if she would feel anything if she killed someone else - had this just been a one off experience, because he’d been the one to technically kill the man, or because she was in shock? Or did she really just not _care_ that she’d taken someone’s life?

The next time he went out, she decided to come with him again. He didn’t try to push her into hurting anyone - he _wouldn’t_ this time, because he could see she wasn’t ready - but he made sure she was in the centre of the room with him, rather than watching from the sidelines. 

The same thing happened the next few times, too, and she was almost impressed that he always managed to find so many different places with lots of people for him to kill. 

But then, one day, he suddenly decided that she was ready. He looked at her, and she didn’t look scared - not that she ever really _did,_ but she had started looking a bit anxious as they left the TARDIS, ever since she’d killed that man. Today, though, she didn’t. She didn’t look much of _anything,_ because she’d become so _used_ to the whole activity, now. But this sort of experience was a bad thing to become accustomed to seeing, because the more she saw it, the less it affected her, until she found that she really didn’t have a problem with it at all.

Last time - her _first_ time - he’d helped her. He’d done more than help her, really, since he’d been the one who actually made her pull the trigger. But now, today, he wanted her to be more _part_ of it. So, when they stepped out of the TARDIS, his arm was wrapped around her waist, and when he was threatening everyone with his TCE, she was right there with him. 

By the time the numbers of living hostages had decreased and the Master had made a speech about shooting anyone who moved, he’d noticed a few things. First, he realised that as threatening as he was being, _she_ didn’t look the part. The Doctor still wore her blue rainbow shirt with the _stupid_ bright yellow suspenders, and he made a mental note to fix that later. His second realisation came when he handed her the weapon and told her to shoot someone. She was happy to threaten people - well, not _happy,_ but she’d willingly wave the device around and point it in the general direction of the crowd while he talked - but the Doctor still wouldn’t kill anyone in cold blood. She _couldn’t._ Not yet, anyway.

Suddenly, the Master started grinning. He had a plan to fix that.

A little while later, they were heading back into the TARDIS, his thirst for murder temporarily quenched.

Taking her hand, the Master led her to his clothing room. As they walked in, the Doctor saw racks and boxes completely full of all different types of clothes, and he looked over at them with a smirk. “Let’s find you something new to wear.”

Despite the way he’d used the word " _let’s"_ , he didn’t seem keen for the Doctor to actually have any input on her own outfit, so she hung back, glancing at all the clothing and mentally picking out which items she would choose if he gave her the option. Unsurprisingly, she never got the chance.

The Doctor had been wearing variations of her old outfit, until now. She’d liked the rainbow shirt, the yellow suspenders - all the splashes of colour had brought her joy, once, and she didn’t want to lose that. Clinging to the outfit had made her feel slightly better about herself - the flimsy fabric felt like the only tie she had to the person she used to be, before she found out the truth. Before everything in her life became about _him_. The moment she lost it, it would be like she was admitting defeat - admitting that she was happy to become this new, worse, version of herself.

She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.

A few minutes later, he turned to face her with a grin, a small pile of clothes folded neatly in his arms. She reached out to take them, but he put them down on a nearby chair instead, then came to stand in front of her. 

“These will look good on you.” His words may have seemed like a simple compliment, but his firm tone let her know that it was an order. He was saying you _will_ put on these clothes, and they _will_ look good on you. There was no room for debate.

The Doctor wondered what he was going to do next - it didn’t seem like he was going to leave the room, and right now he was just standing in front of her, staring at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen in a while. Her unspoken question was answered pretty quickly, though, when he took a step closer to her and started slowly pushing her coat off her shoulders.

Ah. Okay. She wasn’t quite sure what to do, now. 

The Master moved to stand behind her, pushing her coat down and off her arms where they hung limply at her sides, letting the material fall to the floor with a quiet thud. He reached for her suspenders, next, sliding them off her arms one at a time, until the material just dangled from the waistband of her trousers. It was when his fingers started to fiddle with the hem of her shirt that she stopped him. 

The Doctor’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, and surprisingly, he didn’t react. She turned to face him, and the two of them simply watched each other’s expressions for a moment, reading the emotions there and understanding the other’s thoughts as easily as they would be able to if they were saying them aloud.

He needed this. He needed the control. And the way that he had completely frozen when she touched his wrist showed her that he wasn’t going to do anything she told him not to, so she gave him an almost imperceptible nod before releasing her grip on him. 

With that, her shirt was lifted over her head, and her trousers were pushed down her legs. The Doctor found herself shivering as the cold air hit her skin. He seemed determined to try and warm her up, though.

His lips found her collarbone, then the dip of her cleavage where it wasn’t entirely covered by her bra. And then he moved down, pressing kisses along her stomach as he looked up at her - because he was kneeling in front of her, now. And, _oh,_ that image sent a shiver down her spine for a _different_ reason.

When his lips reached her hip, he started to suck a mark onto her skin as his hands rested on her waist, holding her body close to him. Her breath hitched, the Master noticed. He smirked up at her, then, and pressed another few kisses to her thighs as he lifted her legs up one by one to free them from the bunched up material.

Once he was standing in front of her again, he shot her a cheeky grin, and she couldn’t stop the little smile that she gave him back. That hadn’t quite been what she’d been expecting, but… okay. 

The Master took a step back and let his gaze very obviously rake over her body with an approving smirk. She was beautiful. And she was _his_.

Picking up the new clothes he’d chosen and handing them to her, he moved to sit in the chair, watching her as she pulled them on. It was an odd feeling for her - being watched so closely wasn’t something that she was used to, but it was something that he seemed to like doing. She’d have to learn to live with it, she supposed. 

The outfit he’d chosen was all black - the trousers resembled her usual ones, aside from the colour, and the top was a halter neck. It wasn’t really her style, but she’d wear it anyway.

“I like it.” He said, and she gave a slight nod as she looked down at herself. “What do you think?”

“Not sure.” She responded, scrunching up her nose. “It’s not very _me._ ” 

The Master waved a hand dismissively, before heading towards the door. “Keep it on anyway.”

Once he’d left the room, her eyes wandered back to the boxes of clothing, and she spotted something with a small smile. Bending down, she picked out a pair of suspenders, and turned them over in her hands. They were a light grey colour, and she couldn’t help thinking that they were perfect. Amongst an outfit that she didn’t think suited her at all, she could wear these, and pretend she was the same person that she used to be. They may not be her classic yellow ones (and she wasn’t even sure if she _wanted_ those anymore - they seemed a bit too happy and pure for the person that she had become) but she’d have to make do with what little options she had.

Quickly attaching them to her clothes, she looked at herself in the mirror with a small sigh, then pulled on a solid black jacket that he’d left out for her. It reminded her of her last regeneration - the hem came down to her mid-thigh, just like the coat she used to wear had done.

Then, after pulling the jacket a little more closed than it had been so that the suspenders weren’t visible, she followed after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I write more? Please leave me some feedback and let me know what you think so I know if I should do more!


	3. Beside The Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a dream, the Master gets upset, and then he puts some of the skills that Missy learned to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, updating this fic after three months? More likely than you'd think

The Doctor quickly decided that she didn’t like this new outfit. The coat didn’t look right when she ran, the top was itchy, and the entire colour scheme was too  _ dark _ . She found herself looking forward to the nights (not that they really  _ had _ night and day on a time machine, but it was whenever the Master decided he could use some rest) because it meant she could change into something else to sleep in.

At least he hadn’t tried to control what she wore to bed, too _ \-  _ not yet, anyway.

The Doctor had always had a funny relationship with time, but it seemed to have been messing with her more than usual, as of late. Some moments would feel like they lasted an eternity, and others would feel like they passed in the blink of an eye.

Usually, she felt the latter on the days she went outside - when she was allowed to breathe the fresh air of new planets and was forced to watch as he hurt the new civilisations. (Not that he ever  _ actually _ forced her into it. She just found it easier to cope with, if she convinced herself that she had no choice.)

But time passed slowly when she stayed in the TARDIS. Her boredom was to be expected, really, since she’d never spent a moment longer in her own TARDIS than she’d had to, the thrill of an impending adventure too much to resist.

There wasn’t much to entertain herself within his TARDIS, but she did find his library intriguing - it only took her a few days to read the title and summary of every book he kept inside the massive room. (Though it was more than a  _ room _ ; it had smaller rooms branching off it, and seemed to be the size of a mansion.) But knowing the types of books he read felt like a small window into his psyche. She could make that window  _ bigger _ , the Doctor decided, by reading them all, cover to cover. Perhaps it would help her understand him.

But as much as she wanted to, she doubted she would; not unless he decided to actually open up to her. (She didn’t expect that to happen any time soon.)

For three days straight, she read all through the day, and all through the night. Despite barely being able to keep her eyes open at points, the Doctor was determined to continue - she  _ would _ learn something to help her understand him, she just  _ knew  _ it.

Eventually, the words started to swim across the page, and she could barely understand what she was reading. Her tea was cold but she sipped at it anyway, hoping to force herself into a more alert state.

“I can stay awake...” The Doctor whispered to herself, but the next thing she knew, her eyes were closed and the book was laying upside down on her stomach. 

Dreams haunted her, as much as she tried to push them away. The image of the Master’s gleeful face as he took someone’s life was the main theme, as was the fear of the people he hurt. The memory of herself killing someone played, though it was… different. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, until she suddenly realised that she couldn’t feel the Master’s breath on the back of her neck. His presence was gone, and she was  _ scared _ . Her finger hovered over the trigger of the revolver she held (it looked just like the one she’d pointed at him back on Earth; when she’d been in a pinstripe suit and he’d been a messy blond), and the man looked up at her, his body shaking. 

The angle seemed to change, then, and it was like she was  _ watching _ the scene unfold as if she were one of the other hostages. From this perspective… well, she didn’t like what she was seeing.

A glance down at her body showed that she was wearing her old outfit - the bright yellows and blues would make it hard to blend into a scene like this. (But she didn’t  _ need _ to blend in, it was only a dream; she was vaguely aware of that somewhere in the back of her mind.) Something else was different, she realised after a moment. The version of herself brandishing the weapon was in the all-black ensemble that the Master had chosen for her - the one that was supposed to taint her image and mind with its dark colours. 

Maybe she was here watching this because she was supposed to help. Perhaps she was expected to stop the kill - to save both the man and herself. 

“Wait!” She shouted as she surged forwards, but her past self didn’t seem to notice her. The Doctor watched as an evil smile spread on her face, and as she pulled the trigger. 

Eyes widening, she rushed to the man’s side, cradling his lifeless body in her arms. She didn’t know him, but she held him close anyway, as she had once held the Master on the Valiant, and as  _ he _ had once held  _ her _ , in the Matrix.

Suddenly, the version of herself that stood above them let her gaze drop to meet hers. Her eyes betrayed no emotion, and the Doctor found that she was  _ afraid _ . Not afraid of what would happen, but she feared that this was something she could actually be capable of.

Before she’d had much time to think it over, the woman above her shot her between the eyes.

The Doctor woke up gasping for breath. It was only when her eyes flicked open that she realised her reaction  _ wasn’t _ because of the dream, but because there was a strong hand covering her mouth, and her nose was being pinched between a thumb and forefinger.

Arms flailing wildly, she thrashed on the sofa, and her elbow came into contact with soft skin. Hearing the grunt being forced out of the person above her, the Doctor fought  _ harder, _ trying to push him away.

The book still lay on her chest, though it was getting close to sliding onto the floor, and there was a knee pressing into the cushions either side of her hips. He was sitting on her thighs, his weight pinning her down no matter how much she tried to kick out. 

“ _ Stay still. _ ” The Master hissed into her ear, and after one more attempt at a kick, she listened. Fighting was only making her lose the breath she had been holding, anyway. Her respiratory bypass would kick in soon if he didn’t let go, she knew.  _ He’d _ know it too, but she honestly wasn’t sure how far he’d take this. He wouldn’t kill her, she knew that much. If he  _ was _ going to try his hand at it, it would be with more  _ flair _ than this. “Good girl.” He muttered, and he took his hand away just  _ seconds _ before her bypass could kick in. 

As much as she hated looking weak in front of him, she couldn’t help the way that her body drew in as much oxygen as possible, and couldn’t hide how she was shaking ever so slightly. (But they both knew it wasn’t down to fear, simply her body coping with the lack of oxygen.)

“What are you doing?” She asked in a croaky voice, though she instantly regretted it.  _ God _ , her lungs were burning.

“Just waking you up.” His hands fell to the tops of her thighs, and his thumbs started rubbing circles into the skin. “You fell asleep on my sofa.” There was a little anger seeping into his voice, now. “You have a bed for a  _ reason _ .” 

“I didn’t  _ mean _ to fall asleep. I was reading.” He didn’t seem to like that answer, as his thumbs began to dig into her skin painfully.

The Master was silent for a moment, then shook his head, deciding to pretend this hadn’t happened. “We’re going out.” His tone was firm, but she didn’t miss the sideways glance he shot her, as if checking that she wouldn’t protest. She stayed silent, and he gave her thigh a light pat before climbing off her. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Eyes briefly fluttering closed, she clenched her fists and tried to force herself into deep, calming breaths. By the time she’d managed to regulate her breathing, the palms of her hands had deep red crescent-shaped marks forming on them. 

As she waited for his return, the Doctor let her mind drift back to her dream. It had been horrible, but she couldn’t get it out of her head. It had felt so  _ real _ \- but more than that, it’s message had scared her. Did that one dream really represent what was going on in her subconscious - was the  _ caring _ part of her mind being killed by the  _ new _ thing that the Master had made her?

Perhaps the scariest thing wasn’t the answer to that question, but the fact that the Master wasn’t there at all. A voice in the back of her head told her that it was because she didn’t  _ need _ him to become that person. He may have coached her through it; he may have  _ technically _ been the one to pull the trigger, but she might’ve done it anyway at a different point in her life. After all, that  _ dark _ version of her wasn’t using the TCE. No, she was using the very revolver that she had once held, even after swearing to never use a gun.

She’d sworn never to use one in this regeneration, too. Perhaps that promise would prove to be just as untrue.

The Doctor was broken out of her spiralling by the sound of footsteps approaching. Although she would have preferred to be alone, she was almost grateful for the intrusion, glad to have something else to think about.

“What’s that?” She asked, brows furrowing as she glanced down at the small purple bag the Master was carrying.

“Makeup.” 

As he came to sit next to her, the Master grinned, his anger from moments ago seemingly forgotten. 

“Isn’t that what people use to colour in their faces?” If her expression was anything to go by, the Doctor wasn’t a huge fan of the idea. “I don’t want that on my face.”

“It’s not  _ just _ for colouring in - it’s for outlining, too.” He picked something out of the bag and showed it to her. “I normally use eyeliner. But when I was a woman, I went  _ all _ in.” Yes, she could remember seeing Missy fix her makeup once or twice - she’d carried around a lipgloss and had applied it just before killing Osgood. (The Doctor had watched the footage on the security cameras.) “Now, sit still…” Suddenly, he brought a hand up to grip her chin. 

The Doctor eyed him slightly awkwardly as he positioned her head where he wanted it and began pencilling in her eyebrows. 

“I’ve never worn makeup before,” The Doctor said, though it came out a little muffled since he wasn’t allowing her to move her jaw. She simply got a hum in response, and a few minutes later she was being told to close her eyes. She didn’t particularly  _ want _ to, not when he was so close, but she did it anyway. Best not to make him too angry, she thought. Besides, she was already wearing the horrible clothes he’d picked out for her; what was the point in protesting  _ now _ ? 

His grip loosened over time until his fingers were simply resting against her face, and she could feel the soft touch of a brush against her eyelids. The experience could almost have been relaxing if spending time with him didn’t bring the constant threat of being on the receiving end of one of his more violent mood swings.

Her mind wandered as she sat, her fingers twisting together in her lap. She thought back to a long, long time ago (was it five regenerations ago, or more? They all seemed to blur together after a while) when she’d met a future version of herself.

_ The Valeyard. _

He’d been a combination of all the dark parts of herself, and he’d been from her future - quite far ahead at the time that they’d met, but not anymore. The Master had been the one to tell her who he was, though, and she wondered how much he’d known. Was she becoming that person now, the more time she spent with him? And if she was, did he  _ know _ he’d be the cause?

_ ‘The Valeyard is an amalgamation of the darker sides of your nature, somewhere between your twelfth and final incarnation, and I may say you do not improve with age.’ _

If she counted the War Doctor (though she’d never particularly liked thinking of him as a part of herself) then her twelfth incarnation had been the one who loved bow ties. Despite how happy and excitable he could be, there had been darkness behind his eyes. He had tried to wipe out the entire Dalek race, despite how he’d promised himself he would  _ never _ be violent on such a large scale ever again. That regeneration had been a  _ dark _ one, even though it wasn’t always obvious. 

Humans had always brought out the best in him, though, so he hadn’t a chance to become  _ too _ dark, as he always had a friend by his side. But now, she had no humans - no  _ friends _ \- around her. There was only the Master, and he was the opposite of the good influence that she needed.

“There.” He murmured, as he let himself admire his work. With one final sweep of his brush, he finished the wing of her eyeliner and smiled to himself. He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, wiping away some excess shadow that had fallen there.

As the Doctor opened her eyes, a mirror was being pushed into her hands. The colours looked rather dark on her pale face - sparkling silver blended out into a dark grey, just as Missy’s makeup had once done. 

Before she’d had much time to examine her new look, he was taking the mirror from her hands and putting it back on the sofa beside him. 

“I’ve always liked the colour purple,” The Master started, as he plucked a lipstick from his makeup bag, “but I think  _ red _ is more your colour.” One hand returned to her jaw, holding her still, though his grip wasn’t painful this time. 

Even without the force behind his grasp, the Doctor found herself feeling a bit like a doll as he painted her lips with a deep red colour. 

“Beautiful.” He whispered, a smile on his face as he returned the mirror to her, and watched her reaction closely. “It suits you.”

The Doctor instantly knew that she disagreed. She wasn’t  _ supposed _ to look like this - her bright colours were meant to show her joy; her zest for life, but the dark colours showed the opposite. It didn’t suit her  _ personality.  _ Still, if she tried to separate this body from  _ herself _ … she could see what he meant. It suited her face, even if she didn’t like the impression it gave. 

Perhaps it would be  _ easier _ to think of everything in that way, she thought. If she could try to keep up a detached attitude - to think of her mind and body as two completely unrelated things - she might be able to pretend that she wasn’t simply being used as a toy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some foreshadowing in this chapter, but not in the way that you'll be expecting.... (And I'm very excited to see if anyone picks up on it)
> 
> People haven't been reading my fics lately - probably because it's been a little while since the new season came out. But I'll still be clinging onto this fandom until the day I die. Is anyone reading this one? Or has everyone jumped ship? XD


End file.
